


watch him as he goes

by clumsygyrl (thegirlthatisclumsy)



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M, Superheroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-15
Updated: 2009-09-15
Packaged: 2017-11-10 18:04:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/469144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlthatisclumsy/pseuds/clumsygyrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bob isn't your regular old superhero. Title from the Foo Fighters "My Hero".</p>
            </blockquote>





	watch him as he goes

**Author's Note:**

> written for [](http://allyndra.livejournal.com/profile)[**allyndra**](http://allyndra.livejournal.com/) for the summer swap at [](http://popoffacork.livejournal.com/profile)[**popoffacork**](http://popoffacork.livejournal.com/). many many many thanks go to [](http://thelionforreal.livejournal.com/profile)[**thelionforreal**](http://thelionforreal.livejournal.com/) for the betaing. and everyone else who took a first look at the first part of super!bob. all other mistakes are mine. [if you spot any other ones, please let me know. my poor old eyes can only spot so many mistakes.] also [the government manual for new superheroes](http://www.amazon.com/Government-Manual-New-Superheroes/dp/0740754629/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1253073372&sr=8-1) is an actual book (and fun read). Edna "E" Mode is a character from the movie the Incredibles, I am sad I didn't get to include any scenes with Bob getting to talk to her. Nanobots was pretty inspired from Dr. Who and if you know Dr. Who then you know what episode ("Everybody lives, Rose! Just this once, everybody lives!")

_In 2004, a 2,000-pound space rock bigger than a refrigerator exploded in the late-night sky over Chicago, producing a large flash and a sound resembling a detonation that woke people up. Fragments rained down on that wild Chicago night, and many were collected by residents in a northern suburb._ [[source](http://www.livescience.com/space/090612-boy-hit-by-meteorite.html)]

*-=-*

Bob's head hurt. The sirens and the blaring of horns weren't helping in the least. He groaned and tried to throw an arm up over his eyes, but he found that his arms were strapped down to his sides. "Sonofabitch," he muttered and tried to pry his eyes open, but something kept them closed.

"He's waking up."

"Dose him again."

Bob opened his mouth to ask what the hell was going on, but there was a faint hiss and then nothing but silent black behind his eyelids.

*-=-*

The room was white, scarily padded room white, sans the padded walls. Bob sat up and groaned feeling the pounding headache, the dull throb of it against the back of his ears and radiating down his neck. It felt like the worst crick in the neck of all time. His hand reached back to rub at the knot he knew was there and swore when he looked down at his hands. They were swathed in thick gauze pads and bandages. "Sonofabitch," he growled.

"You say that a lot," a voice said from Bob's left.

Bob swung his head around and immediately regretted when the room spun in two other directions. "Who the fuck are you and where the fuck am I?"

The guy sitting behind the metal table in the shiny metal chair just smiled. "You can call me Smythe. And where you are really isn't that important."

Bob pushed the blanket off his thighs and was relieved to see that he was still wearing mostly his own clothes, someone had left on the jeans but given him some kind of hospital issue scrub top. "I'd say it was important. Either I just landed in an X-Files episode or there is some seriously freaky shit going down." He tried to stand up and was relieved again when the room didn't spin and he felt a fraction bit better than he had minutes ago. "I'll ask you again. Where the fuck am I?"

Smythe's smile hitched up at the corner and he inclined his head. "You're kind of a grouchy kind of guy aren't you?"

Bob snorted and patted his jeans for his cigarettes. He swore loudly when his hands came up empty.

"You're in a government facility. I'm your liaison from here on out. Well, you're on my caseload at any rate. But that's neither here nor there. There's some paperwork you need to fill out and we'll get you started on your orientation," Smythe said, flipping open a manila folder and stacking papers in neat little rows in front of the other chair opposite him. "You'll need to sign each of these in triplicate and please don't forget to initial each of the addendums. The unions will have our balls if you don't get those done. Your W-9 is in the second pile and there are some pamphlets about health care and we have a 403B-A plan for retirement. Can't be too risky with your investments in this age. Never know when the market'll go south," he said and then looked up expectantly at Bob. "Come on. Orientation starts in a few hours."

Bob just stared. "The fuck? Seriously. Are you recruiting me? Do I look like La Femme Nikita? I work sound. I don't know who you were supposed to grab, but you've got the wrong guy."

Smythe lost the sunny little smile and placed his hands on the table in front of him and leaned forward.

It reminded Bob of his high school principal. He hated that motherfucker.

"The government does not make mistakes, Mr. Bryar."

"The hell it doesn't. What the hell am I doing here, asshole?"

Smythe cocked an eyebrow at Bob and then smirked. "What do you know about superheroes, Bob?"

*-=-*

They end up escorting him to a big room with a bunch of long tables. It reminded Bob of some weirdly sterile high school cafeteria with people dressed in variations of his own outfit. Half medical scrubs, half regular clothes, and some of them in weird colors. The clothes weren't weird, some of the people were actually colored things that Bob had only seen in Crayola color smears. He sat down where they told him and took the packet of information and the small brown handbook. He noticed that there were a few other people with the same semi shell shocked that he assumed he had on his face. He wanted to smoke and it was looking like this was going to take a while.

He really wanted a fucking cigarette.

*-=-*

Smythe had clapped him on the shoulder and pushed him down the hall to the meeting hall. "Just an introductory thing really. Then it's off for training. It's all in the packet. I'll catch up with you at the end of the day."

"You get one day training to be a superhero?" Bob asked after setting the pen down on the nondisclosure contract and gave Smythe a look. He was trying really hard not to lose his shit.

"No, well. Yes. It's more of a personal self training thing. You see, we're not really sure what exactly your powers are," Smythe said sliding all the papers into a manila folder. "That blast that occurred tonight. It affected you. Set off the sensors pretty wildly. But we're not really sure what powers are going to manifest."

"I thought you all would keep me in some lab," Bob said blinking at the meticulous way that Smythe smoothed out the creases in the papers and stacked the multitude of folders on top of each other. Bob really didn't like the look that Smythe gave him.

"This is not some sci-fi movie, Mr. Bryar. The government has a healthy respect for our Above Average Human Counterpart-Operatives," Smythe shook his head. "We are not going to make you a guinea pig. Everything in your profile states that while you dislike authority, you have a moral code that aligns with what every superhero strives toward. More Batman than Superman if you'll allow the reference."

Bob shook his head. "So, you're just going to let me out after a day of training out into the general public?"

"Oh, don't worry. We'll have eyes on you. We don't like to interfere too much-."

Bob opened his mouth to argue that point. They had basically kidnapped him from his own damn backyard.

"Collecting you from your previous location was an imperative. First of all your medical condition was indeterminate. We had no idea if you would even have survived the bombardment."

"The what?"

Smythe smiled pityingly at him. Bob was starting to really fucking hate that look. "Son, you were hit with a meteor."

*-=-*

Bob shook his head looking up at the guy standing at the podium. He was an average looking guy, glasses and slicked back hair. He kind of looked like what Bob imagined Clark Kent would have looked like if Clark Kent was real. Hell, with all that Bob had been told, maybe he was.

All he had wanted was a cigarette. He'd been standing on the back step just about to light the end when what sounded like a bomb had come from what he thought was right on top of him. He had looked up and this gigantic ball of light and fire had all but flattened him.

Bob had remembered putting his hands up to shield himself somehow even knowing in that instant it wouldn't do anything to save him.

Guess he had been wrong.

Smythe had told him that the meteor was, to no one's surprise, from outer space. Alien origin that was not in their database. Bob felt fine and that in and of itself was surprising. Smythe had taken him down to a lab and shown him the fragments of what had all but crushed Bob. The biggest piece looked about the size of a refrigerator. They were studying the pieces, but it looked like the meteor rock was just inert. There wasn't anything there but a bunch of carbon.

"Most we can figure is that whatever was in that is now in you," Smythe had said and clapped Bob on the shoulder again. "Cool, huh?"

Bob realized that he didn't have laser vision, because if he did Smythe would have gone up in flames in that moment.

So, here he was sitting on a hard metal bench listening to the Clark Kent guy fiddle with the mic getting some really bad feedback for his trouble. Bob wanted to get up and handle it but it felt like his body was heavier than normal, skin buzzing with extra energy but substance. He couldn't figure it out. He flexed his hands under the bandages and found that they didn't hurt at all anymore. He peeled back the edges and breathed out hard through his nostrils. _Super healing. Call me fucking Wolverine._ He tugged off the dirty bandages and tucked them into his jean pockets. The skin was pink and shiny like he'd just sunburnt his palms and the skin had sloughed off.

Un-fucking-believable.

"Ah-ahem. Hello? Yes, well. Welcome everyone and everything and every being," Clark Kent said and winced when his voice rang out and broke with a crackle. "Sorry. Now, if you haven't received your Welcome packet and informational handouts. There are extras located to the left of the stage. You'll be separated into groups after this meeting and please if you are or have elemental powers, please be mindful of doors and walkways. Also be aware of who you are next to should your powers clash." He paused. "If you have no idea what powers you hold, please refrain from touching, thinking, or speaking, or doing much of anything near anyone. I'm Agent Prime. Everything again is written in your handbook should you have any questions. After you are cleared through medical and you complete your two hour public relations seminar, you'll be cleared and scheduled for your follow up workshops. Also, the American Society of Superbeings has asked us to make you all aware of their free handouts located at the northeast exit. Hoffman and Hoffman also has a stack of legal brochures should you want to have identities or false identities added to your power of attorney or set as your liaison for legal and or financial means. Located near the breakfast buffet and wearing the red shirts are our Informational Agents. Please be advised they can not answer any questions in regard to the following: world domination, merchandising your image/persona, and they can not and are not allowed to proposition you for your life story for marketing in other forms. Should they do the last, dire consequences shall follow. Now if there aren't any further inquiries, our I.A.s will lead you to your assigned workshops. If you have a purple flyer or are wearing a purple wristband then please bypass the workshops and head directly to Room 2456 where you will be sent back to your homeworld. Thank you. Also, please enjoy the free coffee and pastries."

Well, at least he wasn't wearing a purple wristband.

*-=-*

Bob's days went predictably the same way they had before he ended up at the facility. It was almost comforting that he had a set schedule to his day. The powers seemed to manifest when he least expected, so far he'd figured out two of them. The super healing was nice and convenient. He got over colds quicker and didn't seem to tire as quickly. It almost felt like his body was adapting to each new instance of how Bob could fuck it up and made up for it. It was pretty cool.

He made it another reason for him to not quit smoking. He was a super. He could do that shit and not worry. Besides, Wolverine smoked cigars and cigars were way worse for lungs than the Marlboros he smoked.

The second one that cropped up was pretty inconvenient. The super speed helped him save this little kid who almost ended up as road kill, but it tore the fuck out of his sneakers. He wondered if supers got job hazard pay.

(He figured most of the shit that supers did were hazardous so that might just meant he got pay paid. He'd asked Smythe a few weeks after he finished his required follow up what he should expect from the Feds. Smythe had just chuckled in that way that made Bob grumble that Bob should just expect the occasional letter or phone call. He was happy that Bob's superhealing and speed had manifested.

Bob was pretty sure that Smythe was just sticking Post-Its in his file about Bob.

Smythe did tell Bob that his stipend from the government was taxable and that he should inform his accountant about that.

Bob was really really upset that he didn't have laser vision again.)

The kid had been dazed and scared. The mom had been grateful when Bob dropped him off. "They should really put in speed bumps," she'd said and offered Bob a soda. Bob had declined and headed off to work.

Really, this superhero thing hadn't changed his life all that much.

*-=-*

Bob still had bills to pay (the super pay not really being, well, super.) and he had stuff to pay for and work wasn't all that big a problem. He was getting better at sound and had pretty much ignored the constant gnaw of wanting to be the one behind the kit.

(The super strength he'd found out about when he'd picked up a car to save a kitten. It'd resulted in Bob having to learn his limits on how hard he could actually hit his kit without obliterating it. He'd gotten it worked out. The super speed really did help with his stick work though. So that was a plus.

He's reasoned that these new superpowers had to have at least showed him a little restraint.)

Bob didn't worry too much about steady work anymore. He had enough of a reputation to be able to get from tour to tour and gig to gig without having to budget out money so that he had to live off boxed pasta and ramen like he used to have to do. He also didn't have to hear it in his mom's voice that she was worried about him. It was nice to be able to put money into savings and not have to debate with himself about whether or not cough medicine was a luxury or not. (Not that he had to worry about a cold knocking him on his ass as hard as it used to be able to do.)

The thing with My Chem came up when he was between jobs and he took it mainly because he knew that he liked the guys and that Brian pretty much knew about his superpower thing.

*-=-*

The guy had to be about five foot nothing and spitting fire even as the bigger guy was pounding ham sized fists into his stomach. Tiny guy just kept yelling and spitting blood and fighting pretty fucking dirty from where Bob was looking. Bob kept his walk casual but he could feel his temper flickering, getting shorter and watching the energy of the smaller guy flag. He was still trying to put up a fight, but the giant in front of him looked like the punches were just glancing off him.

"Stupid motherfucking cocksucking son of a bitch. Get the fuck off me," the words were garbled and slurred but Bob could pick them out well enough. He'd been in enough fights to decipher choice curse words.

Bob watched as something changed in the rhythm of the beating. There was a shift and flex of the bigger guy's arm. There as a glint of metal in his hand and Bob growled.

"He said to get off him," Bob said putting a hand on the wrist that was about to crash down again. Bob bit back a curse when the bigger guy -.

Not a guy.

The hulk of the thing, person, being had smoothed its features out and there was a snarl of teeth. Teeth that were triangular and sharpened to points. Bob flashed back to picture books when he was younger of evil things with sharp teeth that would tear apart and eat little kids. "Well, fuck," Bob said right before the thing shoved claws into his chest.

The pain seared sharp and hot bright in his chest, spiralling out and just as Bob registered the slick feel of his pulse in his throat the claws were gone and the creature just stared at Bob. "What are you?" It said and the noise made Bob's skin crawl. Bob didn't wait to respond with anything other than a swing of a fist.

The momentum and impact of the hit snapped the thing's head back and flung it toward the back of the building. Plaster and brick shattered and rained down on its head. Bob took in a big gulp of air, adrenaline making his blood buzz in his ears. "Holy fuck," the guy said looking up at Bob in surprise.

Bob could still feel the bloody gashes on his chest making it hard to breath. Metal fucking claws and a body the size of a linebacker. The edges of his vision were starting to tunnel a little. He had to get the guy and himself out of here.

The It was starting to look like it was waking up. Bob did not want to be there when it did. "Let's go," Bob gritted out when the afternoon light started to spangle in his periphery.

"Easy for you to say," the guy said and tried to lever himself up and ended up falling mostly on Bob and passing the hell out.

"Great," Bob said.

 

The getting back to his place was a little more rough going than Bob was used to having to do. Mainly he wasn't carrying an extra hundred and something pounds with him and bleeding from the chest while doing it. Bob got them back and set the guy on his couch and made sure the guy wasn't going to choke on his own blood. Somewhere between the alley and his place the guy had told him to "fuck off" when Bob stopped to prod at his blood lip with what was left of his shirt.

Bob left the guy icing his face and trying to call someone on his cellphone. Bob had his own calls to make. Smythe was just a little too damn cheery when Bob told him about the whole thing. He got fucking congratulated when Bob said that he beat the It with just a chest wound. "Fuck you, man. I'm fucking bleeding."

"Any internal organs fall out?" Smythe asked and Bob could swear he could hear the sounds of his pen ticking things off on a checklist.

"No," Bob growled and the urge to slam his phone down or down Smythe's throat were high.

"Then you're okay. The guys here at the lab have extrapolated that you can take pretty much critical damage and survive. You could even probably lose an organ or too and be able to recover."

"That is not a fucking comforting thought Smythe," Bob felt the beginnings of a migraine. That was one thing that hadn't been rectified from whatever the meteor had done to him. He still got some hellacious stress migraines. The psychiatrist (who was a psychic. go figure.) at the facility told him it was because it was an external manifestations of his psychological pain. Bob had not so politely told him to go fuck himself. He also made himself imagine laser vision. That had ended his required psych eval pretty quickly.

"I know. Sorry. We'll call if we find out anything about your nemesis."

"He's not my nemesis, you fuck," Bob slammed his hand against the wall and he swore when the plaster crumbled under his fist. "Son of a bitch." There was no way he was getting his deposit back now.

"We'll be in touch," Smythe said and all Bob had was a dial tone. He set his phone down carefully on his kitchen table otherwise he would have crushed the damn thing. He needed a drink and a shower. He walked back out to the living room and looked at the guy. "You okay?"

"Well, some monster thing tried to beat me to death and eat me. No. I think I'm pretty fucking not okay. Who the fuck are you?"

"Bob," he felt a little ridiculous holding his hand out, but his mom was always real strict about manners.

The guy looked at the hand covered in blood and plaster. "Brian," he said shaking Bob's hand. "So, you're some kind of crazy who lets things rip their chest open?"

"Something like that." Bob had read the subsection about revealing secret identities to trusted individuals. He was pretty sure that knowing a guy for about two minutes did not count. Besides it put the person in grave peril if they were privy to your identity. That was what one of the flying bat supers had told Bob once when they had been both trying to save a retirement community from some weird worm thing.

"Superhero?" Brian asked tossing Bob the battered "The Government Manual to New Superheroes."

Bob caught it and sighed. "Yeah. Sort of."

"How are you sort of a superhero?" Brian asked and his jaw was already turning an interesting shade of purple.

"I save people. Have some powers. Not really sure what I'm supposed to be doing really," Bob said shrugging.

Brian looked at Bob and tapped his fingers against his leg. "I kind of think that's the point."

Bob looked at Brian and nodded. "Might be right."

*-=-*

Brian, it had turned out, was really good at organizing details and Bob was continually grateful for that. Brian had kept his secret identity secret and even hooked him up with a steady stream of jobs. Bob had mostly gone on the tour through Europe as a favor for Brian but mostly because he liked the guys. Most of them. Most of the time at least.

Gerard was a soft blur of alcohol scented warmth at Bob's side for a lot of the tour. Bob watched him more than the others really just to make sure that he didn't need saving from himself rather than evil forces. Bob figured that Gerard was doing a damn fine job of evil doing against himself than any super villain could do to him. Ray was a constant as well, sharing quiet comments and the not so quiet enthusiasm about playing and creating that Bob felt an instant kinship. Mikey was like his brother, soft and enthusiastic but in a way that made Bob want to shield him from what he and everyone else could see was his brother's unavoidable crash and burn.

Then there was Frank. Brian had warned Bob that Frank was "a pain in the ass that causes me nothing but grief" and Bob had just raised an eyebrow. Brian countered with a pop of a Tums into his mouth as if the mention of Frank instantaneously caused heartburn.

Frank was not what Bob expected. He'd met him before, a tiny little whirlwind of asshole and bright grins with a tail of smoke following in his wake. Bob usually could find Gerard or Worm or someone trailing after him, as if lured by the wisp of greyish white. Frank in close quarters wasn't really what Bob expected. Bob expected the annoying little shithead attitude, but Frank got as quiet as Gerard and as passionate as Ray at times. There were even moments when Bob wanted to tuck Frank in against his side and protect him from the inevitable spiral that Gerard was sending them down.

The last worried Bob the most. Even after saving Brian's scrawny mouthy little neck, he hadn't felt the urge to want to keep him. (Not that Brian would have let him. Bob would have had to have Smythe have his head examined. Bob was still having Smythe check to see if Brian didn't have any super Manage Everything In his Path Power. Smythe had already hung up on him twice for asking.)

Bob put up with the tired smelly slump of Frank's body against his in the cramped van and told himself that this was all his but only on a limited time offer thing. They were getting a name and Bob was not going to set himself up for disappointment.

Failure was its own kind of Kryptonite.

Bob fucking hated himself for that thought. Cheesy taglines and morose thoughts. There was no fucking way he was going to get himself a goddamn utility belt if it came down to it.

*-=-*

It wasn't often, but Bob ran into other supers. It was kind of inevitable really. It was a learn as you go type of thing if anything his other friendly supers were to be trusted. There was this really young kid, Nate, that seemed to show up whenever Bob was rescuing animals. Nate was a soft spoken kind of kid. Bob figured he was high more than half the time and the other half was just enough Southern that it leeched into the way he phrased things.

Bob was pulling a litter of kittens out from the middle of a storm drain when he heard the quiet cough and rapping of knuckles on the grate. Bob was covered in slime and he was trying really hard not to scare the little drenched fuzzballs.

"Need any help?"

Bob looked up to see a tiny guy (he was beginning to wonder if that was another superpower of his to keep having to run into and possibly save little dudes.) with big brown eyes wave at him. "Heard 'em cryin'." The guy was young, barely out of his teens if that and Bob wiped the mud off his forehead. He was pretty sure he failed if the guy's grin was any indication.

"It's cool. Almost got 'em all," Bob had been quick to learn not to drop his cigarette when in the middle of a small rescue. It was clamped tightly in the corner of his mouth as he lifted the last of the kittens into the basket he'd made his hoodie. They were all exhausted, tired from crying and hungry Bob was pretty sure.

"Name's Nate," the guy said holding up the heavy steel grate for Bob to walk back out. Bob winced a little at the hole he'd torn in it to get to the kittens, but he reasoned that the rains were getting worse and the storm wasn't getting any prettier. It was the grate or the kittens. The kittens won out.

"Bob," Bob shifted his hold on his bundle and shook Nate's hand. If Bob was unsure about Nate about being a super before, the tight hard grip was confirmation enough. "So, what's your deal?" Bob asked.

"Uhm," Nate blushed and rubbed his now dirty hand, thanks to Bob, on the back of his neck. "I can uh. Well, talk to animals. Hear them and stuff. I was nearby," he shrugged. "Couldn't let 'em just die, you know?"

Bob was in Georgia and the rains had been coming down for a week he had heard on a news report. He was pretty sure that it wasn't just being able to talk to animals was the extent of Nate's powers, but he wasn't going to press. It wasn't his business. "So, I guess I should hand these over to you then."

Nate's face lit up, losing the half glazed look from earlier. "Yeah?"

Bob shrugged. "You can ask them what they want for dinner. I'll buy."

Nate took the bundle and grinned at Bob, bangs flattening wetly against his forehead. "Thanks. I know a family that would love a couple of these little guys." Bob headed them back toward the main road and sighed. "Where's the nearest place to get cleaned up. I kinda left in a hurry."

"Yeah? Where from?" Nate asked stopping the weird clicking purring exchange he was having with one of the kittens.

"Chicago."

"Huh," Nate said. "You can fly?"

"Apparently," Bob said and swore when he realized the rain had soaked through his cigarette.

*-=-*

The call to see if Bob wanted to join My Chem came while he was in the middle of saving the prince of some European country from what looked like mutant butterflies. Bob had taken to wearing a mask.

(Smythe had emailed Bob the memo from the last American Society of Superbeings and Bob had snickered at the letterhead on the email that just read "A.S.S. wants you..." with the really bad clipart superhero with a cape logo. The memo had been about keeping secret superhero identities secret and not to let non-supers know, blahity blah blah. Smythe had also sent Bob a link to retailers that specialized in masks.

Bob did not want to know why Smythe gave him a direct link to the leather and whips section. Bob wished he had the superpower to forget.)

The mask was a nice soft buttery black leather. Pretty simple really. He'd started off just grabbing some off the rack ski mask from whatever convenience store he was at, but people started thinking that he was trying to rob them rather than trying to save them from harm. He opted for the Hero Mask 23-B, plain black by E Mode. He did not however opt for the full on Hero suit. He was doing fine in just jeans and hoodie.

The reinforced boots and sneakers the lab guys had sent over were a vast improvement though.

"Is that your phone?" The heavily accent English asked Bob as he had the crown prince over his shoulder and about to head upstairs to take off.

"What?"

"Phone, Señor Hero," the prince said calmly as if being held upside down over a strange man's shoulder was commonplace for him. Bob hefted him up a little higher and squinted at the horizon through the big picture window to the east where the sky was turning an epic purple black - not from nightfall, but from the convergence of the man eating mutant (alien? Bob wasn't sure.) butterflies. "Your pocket is vibrating."

"Oh," Bob shifted to try to reach his phone but it was hard juggling a prince, a yapping dog (the princess Esma's precious toy poodle that could not be left.), and jog up the flight of stairs to the tower so he could take off. "Mind answering it for me?"

"Claro," the prince said and flipped open Bob's phone. "Hola? Ah, no. He is busy at the momento. Perhaps he can call you back, yes? Ah, yes. I will ask him for you."

Bob wasn't particularly out of breath, but he was concentrating on not dropping the prince, the dog and trying to smash one of the butterflies with his free foot so it wouldn't eat the barking thing (the dog not the prince.). "Who is it?"

"A Brian for you. Asking if you would like to join a band. Ah, gracias," the prince said when Bob kicked the butterfly against the wall with a satisfying splat before it could eat the prince's face off.

"Uh. Tell him yeah. Or yes. No. Uh. I'll call him back, but I'm definitely interested," Bob said spotting the last landing to get to the tower.

"Claro. Yes, he is interested. He will call you back. Ah, sí. Yes, yes. Goodbye," the prince said sliding Bob's phone back into his back pocket. "Brian says to stop fucking around and get back to the States. Interesting friend you have, Señor Hero."

"Yeah, he's a ray of sunshine," Bob said smirking.

"Yes, and if you please. I am getting a bit lightheaded."

"Sorry, have you out of here quick," Bob said adjusting his hold and kicking open the doors to the balcony. The dog yapped louder and pissed itself and Bob.

"If you drop the perro, I will not tell anyone," the prince said calmly as the wave of purple black swept closer and the sound of thousands of pairs of delicate wings beat together almost drowned out any other sound.

Bob was laughing as he took off toward the edge of bright blue in the horizon with the prince and dog in tow.

They were hundreds of miles away when the boom of something big and deadly took out the threat. Bob was having buñelos and letting the crown prince flirt with him.

It wasn't a bad day and he might even have a band when he got back.

*-=-*

Bob fidgeted under the make up (why they had to put him in fucking make up was anyone's guess) and wanted to wipe it off, but the director was shooting him a look and Brian had already smoked his way through his pack of cigarettes and half of Bob's. He sat behind the kit and could feel the sweat soaking the back of his shirt already. This was not ideally what he'd hoped to come back to when they said "Hey, want to join the band?"

(There was a 34 page addendum packet to the handbook that Bob got mailed special courier when he signed off on the record label contract to be part of the band. It had the government seal and told him that the accountants had been notified and been slapped with about a small forest worth of non disclosure agreements about his powers. Bob figured if anyone needed to know about his powers it would be the lawyers and the accountants. He was claiming his super stipend pay. Plus, he hated doing his own taxes so it was pretty important to let them know why his extra income was coming from Uncle Sam.)

Bob narrowed his focus to Gerard who looked like he was barely hanging on to consciousness and sobriety. It didn't take super sight to figure that Gerard had a long road in front of him. Bob also could see that Gerard looked about lifetimes lighter now. The entire band did.

When Bob got the story out of Brian, between a round and three layers of swearing and bitching, Bob learned that Matt just hadn't worked out. There was bad blood and Brian didn't want to get into it.

It was fair. Bob really didn't want to have to relive the couple of moments when he had to let Frank lead him away when Matt got on his nerves. The threat of punching his fist through his asshole mouth was a serious temptation on that tour. Brian didn't have to ask what Bob thought of Matt, and Bob didn't have to ask Brian what he thought of Matt.

They'd split enough cases of beer between them to understand that neither of them liked the lack of professionalism that Matt seemed to dole out.

Wanting to send the fucker through the motel window was the least of Bob's threats.

The band now seemed to rally around Gerard, not propping him up but giving him something to lean against when he needed. Bob felt the pressure ease a little glancing at Mikey who seemed to see his brother a little more clearly now. Hero worship was still there, but another layer of caring seemed to trump it. Bob rolled his neck and rubbed his hands on his thighs.

"Roll playback," Bob heard and it started.

*-=-*

It was in New York when Bob ran into Nate's arch nemesis. She was tall and lithe and really fucking hot. She had Nate by the back of the neck and Bob was just about to step in to help when Nate neatly slipped out of her grip and had her arm up behind her back. "I was just going to ask if you needed help, but looks like you've got it covered."

Nate had gotten older, time does that, and his smile was just as bright but with a little more wear around the edges. "Thanks, but I've got this handled. Victoria, this is Bob. He plays with My Chem. You know, Gabe's friend Mikey's band."

Victoria blew out a breath and shifted in Nate's hold.

Bob was pretty sure she could break out of it with little or no trouble.

"Hello. Another super, I take it?" She asked like she was bored. Maybe she was.

Bob nodded and tipped his hand at her with the lit cigarette in a half aborted 'hello'. "Yeah."

"Vick's my arch nemesis. Also, she's in the same band as me now," Nate said grinning.

"Huh. How's that working out for you two then?" Bob asked blowing out a stream of smoke. He was calculating time. He'd stepped out for a smoke and heard the struggle and Nate's familiar laugh.

(It'd taken a few weeks to figure out how to filter out most sounds. Hundreds of millions of voices and sounds constantly bombarding Bob's eardrums at every moment of the day would have driven him crazy, but he learned pretty quickly how to let everything mellow out into the background. It wasn't until something that his body or brain or both knew to pick out as trouble or something familiar that Bob reacted. It'd worked out pretty well. Bob had always been good at making sound do what he wanted.)

He'd only been in Jersey at any rate, really it wasn't much of a flight at all.

"Nice mask," Nate said letting his hand slide down the front of Victoria's dress and into a pocket. "Oh, it's actually pretty convenient. Neither of us have to go looking for each other anymore."

Victoria blew out a breath when Nate fished the glowing thing out of her pocket.

"Plutonium, Vicky? Really?" Nate said handing the stick over to Bob. Vicky shrugged and the strap of her dress fell off her shoulder.

Bob took it gingerly. "Space okay?"

Nate nodded and Bob wound back his arm and launched it up up up into the atmosphere. "I'm sure one of the patrollers will fry it."

"They always do. They like the target practice," Nate said brightly. He carefully put the strap back in its rightful place. "Well, thanks for the assist. We're going to head back to our bus."

"So, you and she..."

Victoria rolled her eyes and slipped her arm through Nate's, tucking her hand against his elbow. "I want to rule the world. Nate here distracts me with lots and lots of sex."

"And baby animals to play with," Nate adds.

Victoria sighed and nodded giving Bob a flirty little smirk. "Yeah. That too. To be completely honest, Nate's the best boyfriend I've ever had. Even if he does have this bothersome goody two shoes streak in him."

"Yeah, well. You like it." Nate blushed and tugged her back toward the line of buses.

"To my utter embarassment, yes," Victoria said kissing Nate hard and wiping at the faint smudge of lipstick on his chin.

"Catch ya later, Bob," Nate said with a happy little laugh. The clicking sounds of Vicky's heels on the asphalt faded as they disappeared into the shadows.

Bob waved to them then stubbed out his cigarette. "Freaks."

*-=-*

It wasn't as if Bob wasn't busy. He was touring and playing drums with a bunch of guys that he considered friends. He was getting paid to do something he loved and have a world of experiences that he hadn't even tried to dream of having. Touring was fast paced, but not as whirlwind as his usual globe trotting worked out to be. Touring across the U.S. was a lot nicer than having to zip back and forth to save people.

It wasn't as if he got to everyone in time. He was a super, but he wasn't clairvoyant. Some times he got there in time to save people from disaster and some times he didn't. Sometimes the deeds of regular people even a superhero or a person with super powers could stop or prevent. It had fucked Bob up for a while when he watched someone die on him. He'd tried so hard, flew as fast as he could, but human life was too fucking fragile. It got reinforced every so often and it made him real protective of the ones he cared about most. Namely his band. And he'd include Brian in that group. Most of the time.

"Bob, bus call in twenty," Brian yelled punching him in the arm.

"Some of the time," Bob muttered and jammed his headphones onto his head and groaned when he felt the rush of air and braced himself for the weight of Frank on his back. "What the fuck do you want?"

Frank held on tight when Bob tried to wrestle him off. (Bob was pretty certain that Frank's superpower was to be annoying and alternately hot with a dash of adorable. It irked Bob to no end that he wanted to smack Frank upside the head and put his hand down his pants.) "Jamia said you have to be nice to me. Since she broke my heart you've got to console me."

"Fuck you. She a) did not say that and b) did not break your heart," Bob tried to shake Frank off his back, but the fucker held on like he was glued there. "I heard you last night."

Frank licked Bob's ear and snickered. "So you heard us plotting on how I'm going to get you naked?"

Bob groaned and wondered if he ran at half superspeed he could gently knock Frank of his back. It wasn't fucking fair that Frank constantly flirted, teased, and groped him when they both knew full on that Frank was not serious and Bob was not going to set himself up for heartbreak. Well, it was possible that Bob was only privy to that last bit, but Frank still had a part in it.

"Yeah. Mainly because she wants you to take pictures because she's convinced I'm hiding tattoos none of you fuckers have seen. I told you before. I don't have any ink," Bob said and sighed resigning himself to a Frank Iero shaped backpack for a little longer.

"Lies. I won't be convinced that you're not hiding something till you're naked and in my bunk," Frank nuzzled his neck. "Seriously, Bryar. Do I have to keep propositioning you?" The question came out soft and Bob turned his head to yell at Frank.

Frank tilted his head a little and smiled. Bob could smell the faint mint from toothpaste and the slightly burnt scent of tobacco. "Come on, Bob. I-."

Bob dumped Frank on his ass right onto a pile of wet leaves. "Stop fucking around. Get on the bus," he said shaking off the gut clenching pang of want before stomping off to the bus.

Frank was yelling at him from the parking lot, but Bob tuned him out. If Brian noticed the crumpled bit of metal at the end of the bus handrail, he didn't mention it to Bob.

Bob had already figured out that Brian was smart.

*-=-*

Bob leaned back into the shadows. He was tired. He'd spent the better part of an afternoon ferrying most of a village out of the way of a volcano that was about to erupt. He was glad that a few other supers showed up. They almost got everyone out with the help of one of the military groups. Bob tried to keep track of them all, but it got too confusing. And really all he wanted was a nice hot shower and to not smell like burning grass and cow shit.

But he was stuck at the moment.

"I'm telling you. He's hiding something," Frank muttered poking Mikey with an elbow.

Mikey sighed and didn't look up from his phone. "A bad hiding thing or just a regular he doesn't want to tell you because you're an annoying little fucker who can't keep his nose out of other people's business hiding thing?"

Frank paused at the tumble of words and Bob smirked from his perch. He'd flown straight back from Venezuela (Argentina? Chile? He was so tired he wasn't even sure at this point where he had been.) and wanted to drop back down within the safety of the shadows behind the buses, but he'd dropped right into the middle of their conversation. "I don't know if it's bad. He's... he's just so damn secretive. He won't let us in."

Mikey looked up finally and pinned Frank down with a look. "He's got his reasons. He's a good guy. You know that. So do I. So do Gee and Ray. So stop it."

Frank scowled and crossed his arms over his chest.

Bob was half waiting for Frank to stomp his foot.

"I'm going to find out," Frank said grinding out his cigarette against the wheel well of the bus.

"Asking for trouble," Mikey said and pushed back off the side of the bus and headed back inside.

Frank flipped Mikey off. "Trouble is my middle name, asshole!"

Bob waited for Frank to run back onto the bus before he let himself drop down the last few feet next to the wheel well, still within the circle of shadows. He wondered who was supposed to protect the superhero from his nosy ass friends.

*-=-*

Smythe was a pretty decent case manager. He was kind of annoying with his not informative remarks and memos, but at least he wasn't intrusive. He also got the bigwigs to approve the rockstar thing. "Hiding in plain sight," Smythe said and slid over the cup of coffee.

"Yeah." Bob sipped the dark liquid. It was burnt and tasted like motor oil and had the same consistency.

"So, this It that attacked you. From a few years back?" Smythe said as a conversation starter and Bob looked up from deciding between hotcakes or a waffle to pin him down with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah? What of it?" Bob decided on the pie instead.

"Turns out It is a he had some interesting things to share about what that meteor was that clobbered you," Smythe said adding a disgusting amount of flavored creamer into his coffee till it was a pale caramel color and smelled like toffee. "The It comes from the same planet. Intergalactic travel and all that. But it came from one of the tertiary planets. Don't worry. It's not like a were thing. You're not going to go furry or turn into an It." Smythe sipped his coffee like it was fucking ambrosia and Bob kind of wanted to sock him in the mouth a little.

"So, what does it mean?" Bob had had some kind of handle on this super thing. Nate, he had learned, kind of had the powers that his mom and dad had passed down to him. Several other supers had gotten it as a mutation of a gene or an accident with some kind of chemical spill. A few other had been gifted or cursed with powers from some god/goddess/demigod/higher power/Power That Be.

Smythe looked up at the waitress and smiled. "Breakfast scramble and toast. Could you just, uh, toast one side and apple butter if you have it."

Bob growled a little and the ceramic creaked a little under his grip. "Smythe."

"Oh, right. Sorry. So, the meteor isn't actually just rock like we figured. The It, his name is Samuel by the way. Apologizes for trying to carve you up. He's actually one of the ambassadors from the planet. Just got a little startled. He thought your friend, Brian? Yeah, Brian had insulted his lineage. It's a capital offense on his homeworld. He thought he was within his rights to, well..."

"Beat Brian's brains out that night?" Bob asked dryly. He couldn't wait to tell Brian this story. It might be a lesson for the little fucker to not mouth off so much. He doubted it though.

Smythe lifted his shoulder in a shrug and dumped another packet of sugar into his cup. "Basically. Uhm, so Samuel was a little surprised when he ran into you. And from what he says, reeking of his planet's technology. You startled him."

"So... he tried to dig through my chest? Next time tell him I'll wear a bell," Bob said rubbing a hand over his chest. The skin had healed up just fine but Bob swore he could feel his ribs ache when he thought of that night.

Smyth shrugged again. "He said he apologizes. He considers you two even since you sent him into the wall. He was also chastized by his wife when she heard that he tried to kill someone on his first day on Earth. Now that was kind of-."

"Smythe. I am going to punch you in the face if you don't fucking tell me what the fuck that meteor did to me," Bob said.

"Fine, fine. So the meteor was actually er. How do I put this? Well, it was a toy really. It was about the size of a football field, but when it hit our atmosphere, most of it broke up. The piece that hit you was the side of a fridge. Most of it had disintegrated as soon as it hit the surface of the Earth, but your piece. Well, you got lucky."

"Lucky," Bob said softly.

Smythe kept on in a matter of fact tone. "The toy was basically designed for kids to play doctor. It was a set of nanobots to help repair and reconstruct any damage the kids did to each other. Well, Samuel said that since the game was destroyed or broken apart the nanobots included in that section went a little hinky."

"Hinky."

"Right. So, basically when the fragment hit you. The nanobots jumped ship so to speak. They caused some pretty catastrophic failure. Severe burns, fourth or fifth when our med teams got to you. Shattered your ribs and I'm pretty sure your one of the lungs collapsed," Smythe looked up when the waitress came back to refill their cups. "Thank you. Could you tell them no onions too? Thanks." He sipped his coffee and looked at Bob. "By the time the guys got you back into the ambulance the nanobots were already fixing you up, healing you and figuring out how to better enhance a human. Well, making you a super at any rate."

Bob swallowed and the hairs on his arms were standing up. "So, the super hearing, speed, strength, and healing. All of it. That's all thanks to these robots that are living in me?"

Smythe waved a hand a little. "In a really simplistic definition, yeah. They're so tiny. They're like your little army. The lab guys figure the flying thing is actually something to do with electrical pulses that the nanobots are exerting against the Earth on a molecular level. Like repulsion of two magnets. Hell, I don't try to begin to understand it when they try to talk."

Bob blinked at Smythe. "So, the bots aren't going to go crazy and try to take over my brain or anything?"

Smythe laughed in his face. Bob made himself not reach over and punch him. It was hard. "Hell, no. It was a kids' game. Samuel assures me that you and the nanobots will live happily ever after. You're the one in control. It's like. You know, yogis who can control their bodies and stuff. You just have to learn control and know your limits."

Bob nodded, not because he agreed, but it was really all he could do at this point. That or laugh at the utter crazy his life was.

*-=-*

When he had the nightmares of the rest of his band finding out about his powers, it usually entailed with him wearing pants.  And he was decidedly more dressed.

And not bleeding from the head.

Then again this might be a version of a nightmare that even his subconscious wouldn't even let him keep. 

"Holy shit, Frank was right," Gerard said staring at Bob with big eyes. 

Frank looked really ill about being right.  Bob's eyes darted to the worn and creased and many times singed brown book in Frank's hands.  He really should have just left the damn thing at his apartment, but after all these years Bob kind of thought it was a good luck charm.  It wouldn't be the first time that Bob was wrong about things.  "Right about what?"  Bob asked and surreptitiously looked around the room for pants. 

"Bob, Bob, oh man," Gerard whispered and he was all but vibrating on the spot. He half looked like he wanted to hug Bob (not new) or bow down to him (new and weird).  "He was right. You totally are a superhero."

Bob forced a laugh and reached out casually for a pair of sweats that were hanging on the corner of a chair. "Is this some kind of joke?  Ha fucking ha, guys," he said and turned back to go to the bathroom. 

Mikey was in the way and swiping his fingers through the blood on his temple.  "It's already healing over.  That's pretty... pretty cool."

Bob's thoughts scrambled a little trying to come up with something, anything that would explain it to them.  He had nothing really.  "Uh."

"It's true.  You are.  We found this too.  And your paystubs," Frank said softly dumping out the evidence onto the bed. 

His mask and a rubberbanded stack of direct deposit stubs from the government.  Secret identity found out through leather and tax documents.  Bob shook his head and yanked the sweats on while trying to think of what to say.  When he turned back around, the rest of his band just looked at him.

"So, it would kind of explain while you disappear all the time.  And not just when a camera's around," Ray said smiling a little and scratching his head.

"And that you're always so fucking cranky.  You get like no sleep, huh?" Mikey asked wiping his 'bloody from Bob's head wound' fingers on the bedspread.

Bob flicked his towel at the back of Mikey's hand. "That's fucking unsanitary."

Mikey shrugged and smirked at Bob in his usual way like nothing had changed.

Gerard beamed at Bob.  "This is so cool!"

Bob could already see the gears turning and the costumes Gerard was coming up with for him.  "No, no it's not, guys."  He shoved his fingers through his hair, smearing almost dried blood into the mostly clean hair.  He'd gotten nicked with a piece of schrapnel when he was going into a building to save a dog that had wandered into a building demolition site.  The cut had bled a lot, head wounds usually did.  "It's really fucking not."

"Oh, fuck you. You're just pissed because I figured it out," Frank said poking at Bob's bare shoulder.

Bob grabbed Frank's hand and glared at him.  "I am pissed because you all have put yourself in fucking danger.  I take that back.  _You_ put them in danger, you shithead because you just had to fucking know."

Frank tried to tug his hand free but Bob just leaned in closer.  "I have powers.  I have some fucked up shit going on with my own body but I am trying to help people.  I'm not a hero.  I just do what I can, okay? I do my job out there for them and I do it for us when I'm with you guys.  It's a job.  But now you put yourself in danger because, because..."

"People want to hurt you?" Gerard offered.  "It's superhero mythos, man.  You've got some enemy. Superman versus Lex Luthor.  Wolverine versus Sabretooth.  Batman versus the Joker."

Bob shook his head.  "I don't have an arch nemesis, Gee."  He almost felt bad for the crushed look Gerard got.  "I have people who want to hurt me that may think that I'm their enemy, but I don't have some one true enemy."  He sighed and let go of Frank.  "Trouble looks for me.  I try to put out fires before they get too close.  Now that you guys know..."  He glared at Frank.  "I can't keep up if I have to split my attention all the time."  It made sense to Bob, but he could see that it didn't for the rest of his band.

"Oh hell no, you sanctimonious asshole.  You think we'll go looking for trouble ourselves?  That I'm some fucking damsel in distress.  Fuck you, I've got more self preservation than that," Frank said and glared at Bob.  "Fuck you again.  Nobody asked you to save me.  If I ever need help, don't come to my fucking rescue."

Bob watched Frank slam the door to the room.  Frank was pissed.  Bob could relate.  He heard the click of the air conditioner and the lick of cool air against his skin.

"So..."

"No."

"You don't even know what I was going to ask."

"I don't want you to get me a cape."

"Damn."

*-=-*

Bob wasn't lying when he told them he didn't have an arch nemesis.  It was pretty common for supers to have them though.  He'd just never gotten around or stayed around long enough to acquire one.  He'd stopped a few bank robberies and faced off with a few crimelords, but mostly he left the Feds or the cops to handle the take down of kingpins and all that.  He just didn't have the time really to cultivate a true enemy.

"Are you sure?" Gerard asked flipping through a magazine.

"Yes, I'm sure," Bob said rubbing his face.  "They're not succubi."

"But they're really fucking creepy," Gerard said making a note in his notebook and flipping to another page.

"Yes, and a fire elemental.  And if you tell anyone he promises most people he will set their hair on fire," Bob reached over and started flipping the pages for Gerard.  "No, no. Maybe, but possibly just a were.  Vampire.  Android from another planet.  Yes, yes, don't ask because you really don't want to know.  Vampire.  Incubus, a demon lord, annnnd Pete Wentz," Bob said closing the magazine and tossing it away, far far away from them.

Gerard frowned and made more notes on his paper. 

"Bryar, why are you throwing," Brian picked up the glossy magazine by a corner.  "A J-14 at me?"

"Research," Gerard said and patted Bob on the head and made his way to the back lounge muttering about markers and paper and androids.

Brian tipped the magazine into the trash.  "Did you just tell Gerard that Zac Efron was an incubus?"

Bob shrugged.  "It could be true."

"Point."

*-=-*

Bob was not happy. 

"What do you mean he's gone?"  Brian asked in soft succinct tones. 

The assistant paled and she swallowed hard.  "I swear. We were outside.  I had just bummed a cigarette off him and I turn around and this gang of guys in weird outfits had picked him up and jumped into a van with him."  She held out an envelope and gave Bob a wide eyed look.  "He was yelling at me to not tell you.  And uh. Something about going to fuck off. You, not me, I think."

Bob swore a streak, shoved the envelope into Brian's hand and made himself walk away while the assistant ran off.  He came back after his temper had settled to somewhere that was simmering at royally pissed rather than killing rage.  It figured that this would be when all this shit went down.

He and Frank hadn't spoken for the week since Frank had outed him as a super. 

(Hell, his coming out to the band about liking guys and girls had been less dramatic.  They'd all just shrugged and Gerard had given Bob a five minute speech about equal love and love coming in all forms.  Bob tuned him out a minute in and just smiled.  It was nice to know they cared but didn't judge.)

They'd stayed as far away from each other as people who lived in the same space could.  They'd had two word conversations.  Bob refused to feel bad about not having the constant clinging warmth of Frank or the weight of a Frank hanging off him.  Bob was now extra pissed because Frank had gone and gotten himself kidnapped. 

"They want to meet you.  Settle a score?" Brian said handing over the note.

Bob scanned the letter and came up blank.  He had no fucking clue who had sent the note. 

"Yeah. Okay.  So, I'll be back," Bob said shoving the letter into his pocket and tugging out his mask. 

Brian sighed and looked at his watch.  "Try to make it back in time for bus call.  You two have a radio interview in the morning."

Bob grimly flipped Brian off and took to the sky.  He was wearing his favorite slippers.  He'd be damned if he was going to speedrun and ruin them.

*-=-*

Bob hadn't been to this part of North Dakota in a while.  He tried to remember the rescues he'd done in the vicinity. There'd been a few cave ins and mudslides.  He remembered an endangered species smuggling ring.  He touched down to the meeting location and snapped his fingers.  It had to be the rich guy with the bad toupee who tried to get Bob to work for him. 

It was always about money and world domination.  Bob sighed and looked around.  He could hear the bad guys making plans and Frank's tiny groan of pain.  Now that pissed Bob right off.  They knew he'd show up. There wasn't a reason they had to go and hurt Frank.  He punched a hole through the wall and just stepped through.  "Okay.  Hands up or whatever.  Back the fuck up," Bob said waving a hand at the surprised ring of faces. "Yeah, yeah. Bad guy gang.  So this would be when you try and swarm me."

That seemed to snap them out of the surprise and they did indeed swarm him.  Bob made short work of the group, punching and kicking and basically street brawling till he was sweaty and even more pissed. Frank had the beginnings of a shiner and his lip was bloody.  "Motherfuckers," he muttered and walked over to get Frank untied.

"Ah ah ah, stop right there, son," a voice drawled.

Bob looked up at the semi-automatic leveled at his chest then higher to the bad toupee.  Bob thought with all the cash the guy had to have to bankroll hired thugs that he could at least manage a decent hairpiece.  "Or you'll shoot me?"

"Not exactly," the gun swung to point at the back of Frank's head.  "I'm pretty sure even you're not fast enough to get him out of the way of a bullet to the back of his pretty little head."

Bob bit back the curse. He was pretty sure he was fast enough, but he wasn't sure he was willing to take the gamble.  "What do you want, er, what was your name again?"

"Chilton Humbleforth," bad toupee guy said. 

"Wow, really?" Bob asked and shook his head. No wonder the dude went all supervillain.

"Silence!" Chilton, there was no way Bob was going to remember that, screamed and kept the gun steady at Frank's head.  "You asked what I want.  I'll tell you."

 _Here we go,_ Bob thought and kept his eyes trained on Chillingham.  He heard the rhythm of Frank's breathing change and he willed Frank to pretend that he was still passed out.  "Oh great. The villain speech."

"I told you to shut up!" Chillworth yelled and spittle flew out of his mouth and landed on the carpet in front of Bob.  Chilliam kept moving forward, irritatingly the gun was steady and dead on target with Frank. 

"Actually you just said silence," Bob said and took a minute step to the right trying to angle more of his body in front of Frank.

"Do you want your little friend to die?"  Chillston asked pulling the slide back and letting it snick into place with a loud snap. 

"No," Bob clenched his fist tighter. 

"I want power.  I want all the power.  I want to make my enemies quake before me and pay me the respect that I deserve.  I will not be trifled with or mocked.  The world will be mine and you will help me get it," he said smiling coldly.  "Do you know what I have in this gun?"

"Bullets?" Bob ventured sarcastically.

"Not just any bullets.  Finely ground space rock has been mated with the metal that formed the casing of these particular clip of bullets. I did some research on you, Robert. Oh yes. I know who you are."  The gun finally lifted up from the back of Frank's head to aim right at Bob's heart.  "Those little nanobots inside you can't protect you from these.  You see, I found your Kryptonite.  So unless you want to die, I suggest you do as I say.  I want you to -."

Bob reached over and crushed the gun in Chillinghamforth's hand.  The sickening sound of breaking bone and the pulpy sound of flesh popping ripped through the air almost drowned out by Chillton's scream of pain and anguish.  Bob shook his head and heard the beat of the government choppers landing and the thud of heavy thick soled boots outside.  He kept hold of the gun but loosened his grip on the mangled hand.  Frank looked green around the gag in his mouth and Bob neatly tore the straps holding Frank to the chair. 

"Holy fuck," Frank says spitting out the dirty rag.  The whites around his eyes were pronounced as he looked from the sobbing man on the ground and back to Bob.  "Holy fucking fuck."

Bob grimaced and handed the gun over to Smythe and waved his hand at the entire room.  "So, uhm.  You don't need my report right now do you?"

Smythe shook his head.  "Nah. I know you guys have a drive ahead of you. Hey, this one's Frank, right?  My kids love your band."  He grinned at Frank and nodded.

"Oh, uh. Cool?" Frank said looking for Bob for direction. 

"You have kids?" Bob asked making a face.  "Someone had sex with you?"

Smythe laughed and clapped Bob on the shoulder.  "Funny guy.  Go on. We'll get this cleaned up.  Oh, Agent Prime was talking about some Presidential commendation for you. Apparently Humbleforth was planning on infecting the House with clairvoyant rats or something.  Crazy stuff. He wanted you to zoom in and plant them in there."

Bob sighed and wiped the side of Frank's face off with his shirt.  He had some drops of crazy bad guy blood on his cheek.  "Yeah, yeah.  Uhm.  Tell him thanks, but no thanks. I think we're playing overseas in a couple weeks.  And you know how much I hate trans-Atlantic flying."

Smythe nodded and he patted Frank on the back.  "Hey, you want the wizards to give him a little," Smythe made a windshield wiper motion with his fingers over in front of Frank's face.

Bob tugged Frank toward him.  "Er, no.  We're good.  Ahh, fuck.  See if you can't find my slipper? I lost it in the first fight."

Smythe waved his fingers with what looked like the Boy Scout salute.  "Sure thing, kiddo.  Have fun in Wisconsin."

Frank's eyes darted around and he laughed a little hysterically.  "So, this is normal for you?"

Bob shrugged and wrapped his arm around Frank's waist.  "Kinda.  Hold on."

"Wait, what? Oh holy fuck," Frank whimpered and then they were airborne.

*-=-*

The fall out from the kidnapping and rescue left Bob feeling restless and uneasy.  The guys had been grateful about getting Frank back for the first few days then had turned to Bob and asked if maybe he had been too quick to save him.  Frank was being, in no uncertain terms, an asshole.

He was cranky and irritable and bit any and everyone's head off.

It was so bad that Jamia had called Bob to please either kick Frank's ass or take his phone away.  "I'm really tired of getting yelled at.  Best friend or not.  Ex-girlfriend or not, I am not going to put up with his bullshit anymore," she sounded tired and Bob was at a loss.  It wasn't his place to say anything. 

Brian ended up taking Frank out for a walk around the arena.  Bob wondered what they talked about, but whatever it was helped Frank.  He'd mellowed enough where no one was actively avoiding him and Jamia had even relented and answered Frank's phone calls.  Bob was not feeling jealous about the fact that Brian fixed whatever was wrong with Frank.  He really wasn't.

*-=-*

Brian found him later that day.  Bob was trying his hand at bird talking. Nate had taught him a few words but always laughed at his accent.  The seagull in front of him looked bemused. Or maybe it was just waiting for Bob to drop the last of his bagel.

"So, stop being a dick," Brian said puffing on his cigarette.

"Uh, hi to you too, asshole," Bob said whistling then clicking at the bird.  The seagull tilted his head at Bob then cawed back.

Brian looked at the bird and then at Bob.  "Okay, that was weird.  Seriously though.  Stop being a dickhead.  He's sorry about you having to save him."

Bob dropped the bagel and frowned at Brian.  "What?"

"Frank's sorry he got himself kidnapped. Sorry he put you in danger.  Sorry he freaked out on you.  But not sorry about some other things that I don't even want to repeat," Brian said ticking them all off on his fingers before putting the cigarette back in his mouth.

"He thinks I'm mad at him?" Bob looked down and clicked twice more and the seagull ruffled his feathers and sat there staring balefully at the bagel.

Brian shook his head at the display.  "Yeah. He does.  He feels like he proved you right and he went and fucked up the dynamic and that you feel like you've got to babysit him."

"That's Worm's job," Bob said waving a hand at the seagull. 

They both watched the bird tear into the bagel with glee.

"True enough. So stop being a dickhead and talk to him.  Tell him you're not mad at him and that you want in his pants," Brian said.

Bob cursed all Jager bombs and shots of whiskey for that night when he admitted that he had a thing for Frank.  Mainly he cursed Brian because Brian was stone cold sober and just letting Bob drown his sorrows in front of him.  "Fuck you."

"Nope. I'm not the one you want.  Maybe you should grow a pair and tell the person you do want to fuck what's up.  Make yourselves both feel better. Mutual orgasms.  And all that shit.  Maybe two assholes can make a right," Brian paused.  "Nah. Maybe you guys could just keep each other occupied so I don't have to listen to either of you bitch so much.  Man up, pussy."  Brian said punching Bob on the arm and walking back toward the buses.

Bob shoved his hands into his pockets.  He cursed meddling managers who were also asshole friends and little asshole guitarists that Bob wanted to put in his pocket.  He also cursed himself for being that freaking coward that Brian called him.  He kicked at a rock, decided that Brian was a fucker even if he was a right one, and the seagull looked up with a questioning little cawcaw.  "Do me a favor and go shit on his head."  The seagull flapped his wings and took off into the sky.  Bob smirked when he heard Brian yell from two buses over.

*-=-*

Nate was waiting for Bob after the show and Bob looked around for a falling building or something exploding.  He even tilted his head for possible injured animal cries, but came up with nothing.  "Hey," Bob said swiping his already wet towel over his face and neck.  "Didn't know you were in town."

Nate smiled and shifted on his feet a little.  "Not really supposed to be.  Vick's in town trying to recruit for her evil organization.  I'll be going to thwart her in about an hour."

Bob nodded at his tech and tossed the towel on top of a rolling cart.  He was headed back to the bus.  It was a hotel night and Bob could not wait to not be on the bus for a night.  "So, how's dating the enemy going?"  He heard through the super grapevine that Nate and Vicky were getting pretty serious.  There was even a pool going for how long it would take either of them to sway the other to the opposing side. 

Nate shoved his hands into his pockets and looked up at the big fat moon hanging low in the sky.  "It's going.  Ups and downs and all.  Some days she wants to take over Brazil.  Other days she just wants me to rub her feet.  I do gotta say that it's really kind of hot when she gets all evil and breathy."

Bob gave Nate a look.  "Uh huh."

"You know, it's kind of hard for us to find," Nate shrugged and blew his bangs out of his eyes.  "People we can hang out with who understand.  So when you find that certain someone you should really hold on to him.  Them, I mean."

Bob stopped and ground his teeth together tightly.  "Nate, who've you been talking to?"

Nate held up his hands and started backing up.  "No one, man.  I swear."

"Nate."

"Fuck, fine.  Vicky heard about it from Gabe who heard about it from Mikey who kind of maybe was listening to Brian who was talking to Jamia about your situation," Nate said wincing a little.  "Vicky's kind of a romantic."

"An evil megalomaniac one," Bob said.

"Well, yeah.  But still.  She thought you were cute."

Bob growled and kicked at the curb.  It didn't shatter, but it was a close thing.  "She did not call me cute."

"Well, she didn't, but it was implied," Nate said back with a sunny grin.  "So, you should be with the one that you want, man.  Every super needs a love interest.  It's in the handbook."

Bob glared at Nate and stomped his way back to the bus.  He really fucking hated that handbook.

*-=-*

Bob jammed another pair of clean socks into his duffle bag and looked around his bunk for his spare pair of slippers.  He still hadn't gotten back the lost one or gotten any news on if Smythe and the crew had found it.  He was too stubborn to replace them either.  He grumbled and settled on just another pair of sneakers and his beanie and got off the bus.  He was having an inappropriate fantasy about him, a hot shower, and a bed that didn't move with the sound of tires rolling under it.  The rest of the guys had headed in earlier, excited about the bootleg copy of whatever anime movie that Mikey had raved about and Gerard had made weird references to French noir films.  Bob was pretty sure that anime was Japanese, but he was too tired to care what did or didn't make sense.

The gun, it turned out, that Humbleforth had said would kill Bob, really wouldn't have done much more damage than regular bullets.  It was a big sting for the government.  Flush him out and all that shit.  Bob had skimmed the memo.  Even if he had found the right space rock and did have bullets made.  The rock was pretty inert and the nanobots would have found a way to flush it out of his system.  Bob hadn't read the bulleted points of how the lab guys had thought up several scenarios for the nanobots to expel the toxin.  Bob had stopped when the word rectal expulsion had been highlighted.  Smythe was one sick son of a bitch who had a penchant for electric blue highlighter.

Bob was pretty super human by all accounts.  He was still trying to come to terms with the fact that he had teeny tiny robots in him, but when he explained it to the rest of the guys Gerard had just stared.  Bob was a little afraid Gerard was going to ask him to spawn with him to see if it would transfer.  Mikey had just made weird hand motions and mumbled something about Transformers.  The Way brothers were weird, but it was a weird that Bob was mostly used to by now.

The door opened easily at Bob's push and he dropped his bag on the floor next to the empty bed and kicked off his shoes.  The hoodie and jeans went next and he put his hand on the bathroom door to open it when it opened for him.  "Oh, crap," Frank said nearly slipping on the wet tile.  Bob grabbed him before Frank could brain himself on the counter edge.  Bob had been so distracted he hadn't even bothered listening for another person in the room.  Some super he was.

"Sorry, shit. I thought you went to.  The anime thing," Bob said and he followed Frank's look down and Bob thought that with all the advanced alien technology stuff that he had in him that it could at least make it so that he wouldn't blush so fucking bad.  "I should," he waved a hand into the bathroom. 

Frank nodded and just stepped aside. 

Bob shut the door behind him and carefully twisted on the shower knob.  "Fanfuckingtastic." 

The shower was long and he used up enough hot water to make him feel human and clean again.  The bathroom still smelled like Frank and there was no telling his cock any differently.  Brief flashes of Frank naked and wet in this very room made Bob tighten his grip on the towel around his waist.  He quickly slammed down the walls on those thoughts and sent a quick prayer to whoever was listening that Frank just be asleep when he walked out of there.  Bob took his time brushing his teeth and drying off listening for Frank settling down into bed. 

Bob carefully edged the door open and he grimaced when he saw Frank not only awake but sitting naked on Bob's bed.  "Aren't you tired?"

Frank gave Bob a funny look and then a little smile. "You have no idea."

"Then go to sleep," Bob said turning his back to Frank on purpose and digging through his bag for sweats and a t-shirt. 

"I'm really fucking tired of you not taking me seriously," Frank said softly.

Bob pulled on his sweats.  If they were going to have this conversation, he was going to have on pants.  "What part am I not taking you seriously? The part where you think I'm mad at you for getting kidnapped?  The part where you got hurt because of me?  Or the part where I'm not actually setting myself up for-."

"For what?" Frank asked sitting up.

"For you to figure out it's too weird.  Too hard.  Too whatever.  You should be with someone normal," Bob said not looking at Frank.

"Oh, you asshole," Frank said fondly and he snagged Bob's hand as the pacing took him back toward the bed.  "Come here. Seriously sit down."  He waited till Bob was seated and Bob looked at him. 

"What?"

"Okay for one you need to loosen the fuck up.  You did not get me hurt.  Bad guys hurt me.  Bad guys who you took care of. Ah, let me finish," Frank said when Bob opened his mouth.  "Two I figured out that you weren't mad at me for getting my ass kidnapped.  It took me a little bit and for both Jamia and Brian to talk my head out of my own ass about that.  Three we're not together for me to get weird about shit.  Not yet anyway," Frank said smiling a little.  "I'm am really fucking tired of you not trusting me enough to fucking know what I want."

Bob tried to move out of the way but Frank was fast and maybe a small part (or big part) of Bob wanted to hear and understand what Frank was saying.  Maybe Bob really just wanted the kiss that Frank was currently giving him.  Frank's body was cool against his, probably from sitting naked in the air conditioned room, but it was warming up quite nicely as it rubbed against his.  Bob gave up the pretense of fighting and let his hands slide down Frank's back.  His mouth opened under Frank's and returned the kiss just as eagerly and hungrily as Frank was giving. 

"So, stop arguing with me. I want you.  I probably fucking love you.  So shut up and let's have sex, SuperBob."

Bob smacked Frank upside the head lightly and he looked at the way Frank's mouth was already soft and lush looking after only a few kisses. "Don't call me that. It sounds stupid."

Frank smiled a little goofily at him.  "Just the name, but the other stuff is okay?"

Bob shrugged and cupped the back of Frank's head and pulled him in for another kiss.  "Yeah.  Just... I'm weird and this situation sucks sometimes and I'm really not sure what the bots want to do with my fucking body most of the time."

"Well, I kind of really know what I want to do with your body right now.  You cool with that, Not SuperBob?"  Frank asked rolling his hips in hard to make a point.

Bob groaned and nodded.  "Bossy little shit."

There were soft sounds and harder touches as Frank got bolder with his assault.  Bob wondered if Frank thought that Bob had to be fought over or won.  Bob wasn't really sure he wanted to dissuade Frank from the plan, because he was really benefiting from the efforts.  He groaned when Frank's hand slid in between the layer of cotton and wrapped hot and tight around his dick.  "Frank," Bob hissed and bucked up into the flat of his palm.

"You have no idea how long I wanted to fucking do this. How many times I jerked off to the thought of you saying my name like that," Frank matched his hurried whispered words to the rhythm of his hand.  Bob nearly came right there when Frank licked at his palm before shoving down the waistband of his sweats to wrap around his cock again.

"Fuck, oh fuck, Frank," Bob said planting his hands on the bed, gripping a fistful of the blankets as he watched Frank's eyes focus on his task.  He looked down at his cock circled in the Frank's hand, red and wet at the tip.  "Fuck, fucking hard for you, Frankie."

"Yeah?  Good.  Because you're mine. And I'm fucking greedy as shit and I'm not sharing," Frank said leaning up to kiss Bob hard, teeth pressing painfully against his lips but Bob just kissed back as hard and as possessive as Frank.  "No matter what. I'm not even letting you tell me no, fucker."

Bob wanted to laugh at that, laugh at the statement because it sounded really fucking evil when Frank said it that way but Bob couldn't.  He didn't have enough braincells to get in line to form two syllables together that weren't Frankie's name before he was coming in that tight fanfuckintastic grip.  "Oh, you little shit," Bob mumbled watching Frank kneel up above him, hand slick with Bob's come as he stroked himself. 

Bob cupped the tight little curves of Frank's ass, squeezing and grinning as Frank's eyes got even darker.  "Yours," Frank said all breathy and Bob couldn't stop himself, not that he wanted, from leaning up to take the tip of Frank's cock into his mouth and sucking.  The knuckles of Frank's hand bashed against his chin and lips as he jerked faster, mindlessly trying to get to the end.  "Fuck, Bob.  Fucking fucker," he said on a choked off laugh as he came, spilling most of it against Bob's chin and barely holding himself up as he slumped forward. 

Bob caught him, his body in a half curl over Bob's head.  They both sat their panting and trying to regain some semblance of middle.  Bob rubbed the back of his head and forehead against Frank's stomach, the edges of the sparrows wings in his periphery.  "Get off me.  I'm going to get a crick in my neck."

"Bitch, bitch, oof, hey!" Frank giggled when Bob dumped him over and lightly tossed Frank up against the pillows.  "Huh.  You're kind of caveman-y, Bryar.  I think I found a new kink."

Bob rolled his eyes but he knew he had a stupid grin on his face.  "Yeah, yeah.  Just don't try to talk me into sex and flying."

Frank's eyes went wide and his hands stopped trying to grab at sensitive bits of Bob's anatomy.  "Huh."

"No.  It's a pain and hard to concentrate. I almost ran into a mountain once," Bob said batting at Frank's hands.  "I said no, man.  No making lists either."

Frank sighed and flopped on top of Bob.  "Fine, but you seriously take the fun out of dating a superguy."

"Call me Captain Downer," Bob said rubbing his hand down Frank's back. 

"Can I?"

"No."

Frank rubbed the hard point of his chin against Bob's chest.  "You sure you're okay with this?" Bob asked and he hated the tiny little crack of uncertainty. 

Frank gave Bob a fond but exasperated smile.  "Yeah.  I am.  Bring on the killer robots and evil geniuses and the Yetis.  We can handle it."

"I can handle it," Bob said softly and cupped Frank's cheek feeling stupid and warm when Frank turned his head to bite at his fingers like the annoying little fucker he was. 

"We can handle it.  I mean, Batman had Robin, right? Bruce Wayne had Alfred.  Han had Chewie," Frank said smiling.

"Okay. Bruce and Batman were the same person and Han isn't really a superhero," Bob tugged the blankets up over them.  He'd make them get back in the shower in a minute, but right now they were both warm and safe and Bob was feeling decidedly mellow.

"Says you.  Han was a superhero to a generation," Frank yawned a little at the end of his declaration and Bob kissed him. 

"He was more the sarcastic sort of hero.  Not really super.  He was kind of flawed," Bob said feeling the pull of sleep.

Frank laughed a little ending it with another even bigger yawn.  "Perfect.  You're a sort of hero then."

Bob pulled Frank in tighter, listening to the steady thump of his heart against his own and Bob thought that he could deal with that. 

Sort of hero it was then. 

"Sort of hero sounds kind of stupid though."

"Go to sleep, Frank."

*-=-*

It only took a day for the rest of the band to figure out Frank and Bob's not so secret Secret relationship.  It took less than a day for Gerard to start drawing Frank and Bob in a myriad of superhero pairings in various risque poses.

Not for the first time Bob kind of wished for laser vision.  Even if Frank looked disturbingly hot as the Joker.

Not that Bob was going to tell anyone about that secret.  That one was his to keep for a while.

fin


End file.
